


Something That Might Be Mistaken For Luck

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've always been so careful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something That Might Be Mistaken For Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [giving entirely to that which is loved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/591737) by [patho (ghostsoldier)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsoldier/pseuds/patho). 



> Spoilers for a few of the main missions, including High Overseer Campbell and Lady Boyle's Last Party. Darion and Windham are two characters from the Campbell mission; you can find a very sweet letter from one to the other somewhere in the Overseer barracks.

They've always been so careful. The penalties are laid out clearly, hammered into their skulls with the Abbey's usual indelicacy, and Windham has yet to attain a rank high enough to avoid being made an Example of. If they're found out, he'll pay dearly, which means that while Windham is cautious, Darion is almost hilariously paranoid. He's the one who checks around corners three times over before agreeing to so much as a kiss. He's also the one who proposed the little drama they acted out some four days back, and Windham obediently threw abuse and several punches (careful not to hit anything vital) to keep their secret safe.

The incident should have terrified them into being more watchful, but the ruckus over Lady Boyle's murder meant Windham's rest day being cancelled; the last time they'd seen each other, Darion lay winded in the gutter, his face and uniform smeared with blood from a hopefully unbroken nose.  
It was too much to bear, and desperation made Windham reckless. They arranged to meet in the Overseer dormitories just after dawn; some of Windham's companions owe him favours, and they'll ensure his absence at prayer isn't noted. He's covered for their illegal trips to the Golden Cat more than once, so fair is fair.

Seeing Darion alive and unharmed (and his nose isn't broken, which means Windham can stop lying awake at night sickened by guilt) makes all the risk seem worthwhile, and they run to each other as though the separation is one of months, and not a mere four tense days.

Sound in theory, their careful planning goes wrong almost immediately. The intended brief greeting and hurried reassurance becomes a lingering embrace, kisses that start chaste and become less so, and they are fumbling at coats and buckles when the High Overseer walks in.

Of all the times he could've picked for a surprise inspection.

Darion freezes like a startled rabbit (there wasn't any backup plan for _this_ eventuality, _why didn't they barricade the door_ ), and Windham steps in front of him. All he can think to do is try to hide his companion's face as best as he can; if the Overseers don't know who he is, they can't punish him. 

High Overseer Martin recovers from shock quickly, but it's said that he was once a soldier.  
"I suppose I could ask what in the Outsider's name you two are doing, but the answer's plain enough." He's quieter than Campbell, less bull and more serpent. Windham is very much afraid of him.  
"High Overseer, _please_..." he cannot for the life of him think of anything that will help, and his voice cracks on the last word.  
"I'm glad to see you are not quite so far gone as to think there's any kind of justification for this behaviour." The High Overseer's eyes flick over Windham's shoulder, and he realises with a sinking feeling that there's no chance of hiding Darion. Martin sees _everything_.

"What are you going to do?" He makes himself ask, because it's his barracks they were caught in, and his superior who caught them, and therefore he has a duty to perform.  
There's no expression on Martin's face to tell them what he's thinking. "I haven't decided yet." He looks at Darion once again. "Your name, if you please. And don't bother lying to me."  
Darion tells him, and then admits to his position in the Watch, and which officer he serves under. Martin doesn't speak until he's finished, and then tells him to leave.  
"I know who you are; I've seen you around. I can always find you again if I need to." There's a threat there, plain as daylight, and Darion leaves as he's told to, glancing back at Windham in terrified silence.

"And as for you," Martin says, and Windham tries to stand up straight.  
"Yes, High Overseer?"  
There's a silence as Martin regards him. "You have watch duty this evening, don't you? I can't spare an Overseer to cover your position, and security is of more importance than ever." He nods to himself. "Come to my office as soon as your shift is complete, and we'll discuss your punishment."

Windham holds himself still, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he contemplates the hours he must spend, waiting.  
"Understood."  
"And do us both the favour of not trying to run. We both know I could find you, if I needed to. Failing that, I can very easily find...Darion, wasn't it?" As though he'd actually forget; Martin has a reputation for never forgetting so much as the smallest thing.  
"I obey the High Overseer's commands." Windham stands still until Martin leaves, his footsteps barely audible on the wooden floor (who was he, before? Something unusual, that much is clear), and then he sinks down onto a nearby bunk, paralysed by fear. It's a long time before he can bring himself to move.

Windham spends the hours of his watch in a state of detached horror. His stomach feels as though it's eating itself, and the feeling isn't helped by the fact that he skipped both lunch and dinner; the nausea was too much for him. So now he gets to pace the poorly lit shoreline (where the masked assassin had come, after leaving High Overseer Campbell in a stinking puddle of blood and unpleasant squishy things that the younger Overseers were not permitted to look at; it was almost as though the killer had a grudge to settle). The shadows do nothing for his nerves, though a part of him hopes the assassin will reappear. A nice, quick death by stabbing would be a vast improvement compared to what awaits.

Hanging seems likely, though the humiliation will come first. They'll publicise his crimes and the day of his sentencing, just to show that the Abbey has not weakened, its walls still stand as strong as ever. Martin is new to his post, and is known to have converted to the faith as an adult; he will be met with distrust at every corner, jealousy and dislike will oppose every change he tries to make. These aren't problems that Windham has ever considered before, but now he finds himself listing the reasons why execution is the most likely outcome.

It would be wrong to allow someone like him (someone _tainted_ like him, as they will say) to sleep among the other young Overseers, because what if he encourages discord? Never mind that discord is already present, that none of the others are as chaste as Stricture says they ought to be. No, Martin will have to get rid of him.

Perhaps he will spare Darion, if Windham promises to cooperate, and accept all the blame. That seems to be the best they can expect from a hopeless situation. Pausing in his patrol at the end of the wharf, Windham kicks a nearby wall, to no effect except that now his toe may be broken, and the night is all the more miserable for it. 

He had dreams. He was going to be partnered with the fiercest wolfhound in the kennels, they'd achieve all kinds of marvellous things, and people would see them walk by in the street, and dip their heads in respect. He'd work hard and be promoted within the Abbey's ranks, until he reached a position where people would just...overlook Darion's presence in his life.

He'd believed in that future, for all that Darion laughed at him. He still believes, just a little, in the same way that he believes this is all a dream, and when he wakes up it'll be mid-morning. He'll be lying in his bunk, Darion's arm around his waist, fitted against him as though they were made for each other. They'll wake together, dressing in panicked movements (they didn't plan to fall asleep, but a sense of security is rare these days, and time for indulgence is rarer still), hindering each other with playful touches. And then Darion will go, and Windham will sneak into his morning training class, barely late at all. Nobody will ever know.

It's how things should have gone. It's how things are never going to go, ever again.

His replacement is very late, and it's not until sometime after midnight that he's allowed to leave his post. Windham considers heading to bed, because surely High Overseer Martin won't appreciate being disturbed at this time. Still, his orders were clear: come as soon as the shift is done. And it's not like he'd be able to sleep, with the possibility of a noose hanging over him. The walk to Martin's quarters is bad enough, and when he goes to knock, his hands shake badly. What have they _done_?

When he hears permission to enter, Windham stumbles into the room. The High Overseer just raises an eyebrow at the clumsiness. He's sitting at his desk in his shirtsleeves, the fabric oddly crumpled, and sheaves of reports are stacked neatly about him. For all his apparent precision, he doesn't look like he's enjoying the paperwork all that much.  
"I was expecting you hours ago, Overseer Windham." Martin's voice is cold, his blue eyes far too sharp for Windham's liking.  
"My replacement was delayed, I couldn't leave-"  
"I have no interest in your excuses, given the spectacle you made of yourself earlier today. Sit." He indicates the chair opposite his desk, and Windham sinks into it, clenching his fists in his lap to keep them still. He can feel his heart racing, terror-stricken, because he's going to _die_ , and probably Darion too. Any thoughts he'd had of asking for mercy are looking a lot less realistic in the face of his cold reception.

"So this is him, then?" The harsh voice makes Windham jump, his hands tightening on the fabric of his uniform. There's a shirtless man standing in the entrance to another of Martin's rooms, weighing him up with clear grey eyes. He's well-muscled, like some kind of fighter, but it's the scars that draw Windham's eye. There's a long, vicious furrow down one side of his face, where someone must have tried to blind him, but it's by far the only one. Old sword-and knife-wounds, and painful-looking burns cover the skin of his torso. He folds his arms, and Windham can see some kind of tattoo on the back of his left hand.

Never let it be said that Windham is not faithful. He loves Darion more than he could ever have thought possible, more than he's loved anyone since he left his family behind (and he cannot remember their faces or even names, only the subconscious conviction that these blurred figures exist, and he loves them). For Darion, he would quite happily quit the Abbey, learn some new trade and start a new life elsewhere, if not for the plague. There's no way out if you don't have obscene amounts of money, which they don't, so they stay and chance the illness. He loves Darion and will never betray him, but he is only human.

His jaw drops (just a little). 

"Yes, this is the unfortunate romantic." High Overseer Martin's weary voice reminds Windham of his position, and he very pointedly looks away, his mind racing. There is a half-naked man in the doorway to what may just possibly be the High Overseer's bedroom, and neither of them seem to care that Windham knows.

"Obviously I need some kind of punishment for him; his absence from prayer was noted, and there are rumours circulating that he did something a bit...untoward." Martin steeples his fingers and frowns over them at Windham. "Hanging seems unnecessary, given that the extent of his crimes isn't known." Windham holds still, choking back fervent agreement in case it causes annoyance. "Still, it might be in my interest to set a harsh example; these are not the times to be seen as weak."

With growing horror, Windham realises that Martin actually is going to kill him. Oh, he'll probably regret it, but he's quite right. As a new High Overseer, he can't afford for people to say that he's not as tough as Campbell was. 

"A whipping would probably do him good," the strange man remarks suddenly, his eyes never leaving Windham. "I wouldn't accept that kind of carelessness from one of mine."  
"A whipping means paperwork, and I'm already swimming in the stuff." Martin throws a disgusted look at the reports on his desk. "Though I suppose an execution does too, damn it all."

A careless shrug. "So have him recite the Strictures seven times before bed, or something equally pointless. Though I stand by whipping as more effective; he's not likely to forget it as soon."  
"And neither of _us_ is likely to enjoy how late I will need to work, if I take that approach. Whip one initiate, and suddenly you have to do the same to the rest, for fairness' sake." Martin rubs his temples for a moment, then fixes Windham with a stern look. "Well, for lack of anything less tedious. Overseer Windham, for your..."  
"Criminal neglect of basic safety measures," the scarred man offers. "Incompetence in the line of fire, irresponsible oversight which could have cost both him and his partner their _lives_ -"  
"-Lack of discretion, he is _not_ a Whaler, Daud, leave him be. Overseer Windham, I sentence you to reciting the Strictures seven times over at a place and time of your choice and that's the last we'll speak of this matter. Get out."

Windham scrambles to his feet at the last bit, almost overturning the chair. This... they can't actually be _serious_ , surely? Except that it appears they are. Terrified the High Overseer will come to his senses and change the punishment to something more lasting, Windham all but sprints for the door.

"And don't you ever get your fool self caught again, understood? Useless idiot." For all the scarred stranger's apparent hostility, he has just saved Windham's life, and it's for this reason that he turns at the door and offers a deep bow.  
"We'll be more careful in the future, sir!"

There's something about the man's bearing that speaks of authority, and the razor sharp smile that appears on his lips is more threatening than reassuring.  
"Then this meeting _never happened_ , Overseer." The dismissal is plain, and Windham leaves the room without another word.

Behind him, he can hear scraps of conversation as he goes to shut the door.  
"-Daud, you do _not_ have the right to insult my Overseers, however careless they may be. I need them loyal to the Abbey."  
"And I should care about the Abbey, why exactly? I'm a nefarious Outsider worshipper, Martin."  
"Not while you share _my_ bed, you're not."  
Windham closes the door abruptly, and makes his shaky way down the hallway. He feels like he's run a marathon with half-starved rats snapping at his heels the whole way. Darion is never going to believe this-

because Windham isn't going to tell him. With a sinking feeling, he remembers why the name "Daud" seemed so familiar. There's a gang that operates in the Flooded Distract, led by a man called Daud. Rumour says they're different from the Bottle Street gang, or any of the other ill-organised ruffians that operate in Dunwall's shadows. Rumour has a lot to say about the Whalers, and the memory of Daud's parting words sends a cold shiver up Windham's spine. He won't be telling anybody what he saw this evening, because Daud knows his name, and worse than that: he knows Darion's.

Best for everyone if he keeps his mouth shut. His course of action decided, Windham heads to one of the small chapels that are spread out all over the Abbey, for solitude and silent contemplation of Stricture. It's late, but the sooner he completes his punishment and forgets the whole thing, the better. So Windham kneels in front of the wall of Strictures (not that he needs them written in front of him, no Overseer actually _needs_ the walls to remember), and sets to reciting dutifully.

And, after an unnecessary check to make sure he's alone, because he sometimes thinks the higher ranking Overseers can read minds, he adds a new prayer. Silent, of course, though even that makes him cringe. But he has no other way to thank the man who spared him and Darion an execution, so he forces down revulsion and directs his prayer to the Outsider. It's nothing flowery, just a simple 'this man saved my life, please do something nice for him', but by the end he finds himself left breathless and sweaty. 

It's all he can do. Rising, Windham dusts his knees off and goes to write a note to Darion, who must be close to panic by now. But against all odds, it's fine; they're safe. And he'll certainly be more careful in the future, because the thought of having to explain another failure to Daud (and the High Overseer of course, him too) is like something out of a nightmare. His steps are quick, just short of a run; Darion is waiting, and the chapel is unusually chilly.

He doesn't once look back, and perhaps that's for the best. In front of the wall of Strictures, the shadows roll like waves, condensing into the shape of a man. Narrowed black eyes track the young Overseer's retreating form.  
"Interesting," the figure whispers, but Windham is too far away to hear.


End file.
